


Wednesday

by AnnaFaie



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 15:34:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20155924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaFaie/pseuds/AnnaFaie
Summary: He fell in love on a Wednesday.





	Wednesday

He fell in love on a Wednesday. A mundane, grey Wednesday evening, when late autumn was, with agonising slowness, turning into winter. It had been raining all day and Gareth had kept them indoors, not wanting to risk anyone coming down with a cold. When they were finally allowed out for a run, the air was fresh and cold, and it smelled of rainfall and damp grass and something strangely new. 

It was a Wednesday evening, and already his muscles were sore from the three days of training. Thursday were rest days, but somehow Harry was restless, finding himself not looking forward to a lie in and computer games with Dele. His stats were off, his sprints sluggish, his ankle unhappy. Whether it was tiredness, or the weather, or the diet he’d let slip, Harry wasn’t sure. He turned on that ankle, just shy of painful, knowing full well it was a uniquely stupid thing to do but needing that jolt to spur him on. 

And that’s when he spotted Gareth, at the other end of the pitch, wrapped up in a thick waterproof jacket and joggers, a hat pulled low over his forehead. He was talking to Henderson: the blond man said something, a joke, maybe, and Gareth’s eyebrows went up before his face lit up with one of those smiles that seemed to transform him. Harry slowed down, the cold air caught in his lungs, and they were burning, because he hadn’t paced himself properly or because something invisible had shoved its way into him. He felt like he was choking, like something so much bigger than himself was stuck in his throat, threatening to tear him apart. And yet it wasn’t scary, not really.

Wednesday was a rather prosaic day to fall in love. The pitch was muddy and the his clothes were damp with sweat, and his ankle was beginning to ache. Gareth looked over and smiled at him, and that thing inside Harry turned, extending itself until there it was, big and warm and so familiar it was almost as if it had been there all along. He wondered for a moment if Gareth ever looked at anyone like that, like ever ounce of his attention was on them and no-one else. If anyone else noticed the way his smile reached his eyes, the symmetry of it, the way it made him look so much younger than his years. 

It made sense, really, that he would fall in love in the middle of a pitch, with three days until a Euros qualifier, staring dumbly at his manager until Trent slapped his back and screamed something at Henderson. 

It had, he thought, been coming all along. The late night WhatsApp conversations that grew from formal business discussions to gifs and YouTube videos. The closeness that was so organic he’d barely realised it was there. He tried to remember when they’d started wishing each other goodnight, and, in all honesty, couldn’t. He wondered when he’d learned that Gareth’s favourite drink was gin (neat, and citrusy), that he liked plain doughnuts and old jazz. That Gareth’s voice was soft and quiet first thing in the morning, when he’d been woken up by Harry’s call because Dele had stupidly gotten drunk and injured himself falling down a flight of stairs in a nightclub. Harry could heard it, even weeks later, confused, words slurred, concern already there even before Gareth had been fully awake. He remembered hearing the rustle of the duvet and the patter of bare feet on the floor as Gareth had walked out of the bedroom. 

People usually fell in love on a Friday night, wrapped in their lover on a park bench watching the sunset, or on a Saturday morning, waking up to a body pressed against theirs, holding them close. He was beginning to get cold, and his boots were soaked through and caked with mud. And Trent was still talking, something about a get together after the game, and he wasn’t really listening. This wasn’t romantic, not at all, but then, Harry guessed, very little about them was. 

One didn’t fall in love with their boss’ furrowed eyebrows and his kind eyes, and the way he’s walked in those goddamn tailored trousers. But maybe one did fall for the way those eyes seemed to see right through you, and the way a mere touch, a hand on the shoulder, seemed to steady your nerves. 

Somehow, it made perfect sense. Gareth wasn’t a startling revelation, or fireworks, or a crescendo. He was soaked sports kit and fatigue, he was too much coffee and expensive coats, training spreadsheets and weigh-ins and late night crises. He was a hand on Harry’s neck and a quiet “I believe in you”, and wind-bitten lips. He was waistcoats and paper files and that kit bag he carried that seemed to always have everything in it, from spare shirts to chocolate to bandages. 

So Harry fell in love on a Wednesday. He fell in love as the rain was starting up again with a sort of half-hearted drizzle, as the cold was beginning to seep through his skin and his ankle was demanding painkillers. 

“You’re cold”, Gareth said. A gently chiding statement. 

And it was that, finally, that made it all snap into place. Harry exhaled, feeling that unnamed thing expand inside of him even more, wondering how that was possible. He reached out, his hand hovering somewhere between him and Gareth, and let Gareth take it, frowning. 

“Get inside,” Gareth said, with an edge of concern. “You’re freezing”.

He fell in love on a Wednesday evening, on a rainy pitch, holding his manager’s calloused hand, raindrops running down his face and into his eyes. That hand fit perfectly into his, their thumbs slotting together like two puzzle pieces. He exhaled then, a broken, rough thing that seemed to tear through his lungs. The rain kept falling, but they stood there until the other lads disappeared into the dry warmth of the changing rooms. 

They fell in love on a Wednesday evening.


End file.
